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COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY JOHN S. o'NEIL. *} 



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ALICE. 



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Where bright the clust'ring ivy clings 

Around a castle's walls, 
And soft a winding river sings 

Below th' embattl'd halls— 
Among these bow'rs and arbors gay 

Two children often play'd; 
And oft along that lovely way 

In later years they stray'd. 



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And later yet the day came round 

That bade him say adieu 
To vales that smil'd and tow'rs that frown'd, 

And sail the ocean blue. 
For him that hour was little fraught 

With grief as it should be — 
Strange lands, new joys, shar'd every thought 

Save thoughts of light degree. 



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ALICE. 




And now well pleased above the brine 

His stately ship sweeps o'er 
He bends when stars around him shine 

Or tempests round him roar; 
His soul exulting as she flew 

Thro' night and storm and foam, 
And many a land she bore him to 

Ere vet he sigh'd for home. 



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IV. 

But she beside the streamlet gay 

Is seen as evening's dew 
Falls round a tree of fragrant may 

That near the streamlet grew: 
Her thoughts as pure as dew-drops bright 

That mid its brambles shine; 
Her pretty hands as small and white 

As buds that o'er it twine. 




How slowly pass the days along? 

How lonely hill and glen ? 
How plaintive is the warbler's song 

Until one eve — and then 
There came a morn, of all the year 

The brightest 'neath the sun, 
That brings the tidings he is here, 

And weary days are done. 



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ALICE 
VI. 



Again he takes her outstretch'd hand 

Just as he gains the shore, 
But all his dreams of that dear land 

Had faded long before. 
But he ne'er thought o'er him she'd dwell 

Save just in passing thought; 
She met him and she felt how well 

She loved who loved her not. 

VII. 

The flush grows deep upon her cheek 

As if from sudden pain, 
And he might read all that she'd speak 

And seeks to hide in vain. 
Her greeting's such as she accords 

A friend of yesterday, 
And bending with a few kind words 

She hastens on her way. 

VIII. 

The ire of scorn — the fire of hate — 
Within her bosom glows; 

Her flashing eye — her haughty gait- 
All that she feels disclose. 

Contempt is on her red lips fair; 
Disdain her cheek has dyed ; 

Her bird-like head in stately air 
Is poised in graceful pride. 




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ALICE. 
IX. 

The very ground o'er which she moves 

Seems flying from her feet ; [ 
She sees not one but him she loves 

Up through that busy street, 
Her mother now is at her side ; 

By chance they've met to-day ; 
And for a moment grief and pride 

Is swept by joy aAvay. 




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To-day within a grove of palm 

She sate and linger'd long, 
As if its shade could yield a balm 

To heal her cruel wrong. 
She calls reflection to her aid, 

And all the lore it brings, 
And blent with these, like sheen and snade, 

Were thoughts of holy things. 

XI. 

'Yet why should thus her heart repine 

Unsought for and unsued? 
And why should thus her heart incline, 

By fancy so subdued ? 
The fate that's her's, were it his lot, 

He'd soon his heart estrange ; 
And he shall learn, as he forgot, 

She, too, perhaps, can change." 




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XII. 

Yet when they'd meet by stream and bow'r 

Along- the handsome scene, 
Her gentle heart would in her cow'r 

Like flow'ret in its screen. 
And oft a keen, shy bird-like glance 

At him unseen she'd steal 
To find some kindly look, perchance, 

Her wounded pride to heal. 

XIII. 

They're friends again. But yet he knew 

Not that a thought he shar'd 
So well her seeming 'sum'd the hue 

Of distant friend's regard. 
And this the dream o'er which she hung? 

And this her recompense? 
.She thought of all, but round her flung 

Supreme indifference. 

XIV. 

Alas! when love must lean on pride 

And knows 'tis vain to bow, 
And for the maid who's by his side 

In mood so varying now. 
Tho' he is chang'd she scarce can blame, 

And yet how can she bear 
A change in him whose very name 

Was mingl'd with her pray'r. 



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ALICE. 






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She spoke but once of one bright hour 

They'd spent in eves of yore, 
And ptill'd for him a woodland flow'r; 

For him 'twas pulled before. 
She saw it as a shower came 

And 'neath the shade they roved; 
It bloom'd again — it smiled the same — 

She look'cl on him she loved. 

XVI. 

She pluck'd that woodland flow'r again ; 

Like that sweet bud she grew; 
They bloom'd within the same deep glen. 

The beautiful— the true. 
Sweet rose, the rose of hope to-night 

Droops in her young heart lone; 
Go, thou, in thy pale beauty bright, 

And wither on his own. 

XVII. 

She clasps it as the Summer rain 

Has just its bosom wet; 
Like her it seems to weep in vain, 

Like her in vain regret. 
She gave it to him with a smile 

Pure as the bright'ning skies; 
Then turn'd aside and for awhile 

She never raised her eyes. 



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ALICE. 



She knew that life had nothing left 

That could the past repay; 
She lived for him — of him bereft 

She turn'd from life away. 
She knew this eve must be the last 

He'd linger in the glen, 
And 'neath its shades, when evening past, 

They'd never meet again. 

XIX. 

The morning came. In that wild hour 

Her mien was almost gay, 
But her white lips had not the pow'r 

One parting word to say. 
All mutely to his side she crept 

Wrap'd in her veil'd disguise, 
As grief in silence o'er her swept 

As lightning o'er the skies. 



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She bends in anguish pale before 

The consort long adored 
To wait the storm's lull once more 

As sorrow sank and soared. 
And now the parting she can brave ; 

Her voice— it shall not break; 
At last her wan white hand she gave. 

But oh! she could not speak. 



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XXI. 

Without a word— without a sigh- 
Farewell, a long farewell; 

Tho' here she could lie down and die 
With grief no words can tell. 

But friends are round, no trace of gloom 
Her bearing now must wear; 

She walks in all her youth and bloom 
In splendor and despair. 

XXII. 

Alone at last — her pent-up grief 

May weep itself away; 
Had her young heart found not relief 

'Twould cease to throb to-day. 
And here unseen she grieves and grieves 

Like stormy night and rain; 
Her soul within her bosom heaves 

As if they'd rend in twain. 



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Now high amid the vaults of blue 

. There shines the noon-day sun; 
And fairy-like the sylvan view 

Her casement opes upon. 
And from its sill, as oft before, 

She looks upon the' sea 
Near-by, that rolls on yonder shore 

In deep-voic'd melody. 



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XXIV. 

Across the clowns, with clouded sight, 
And o'er the distant trees 

She looks and sees a sail of white 
Approaching with the breeze. 

Her cheek is pillow'd on her hand; 
The other, shades her gaze, 

As by it sails along the strand- 
Alas! for other days. 

XXV. 

'Tis eve. Out through a rock-bound cleft 

And far o'er yon expanse 
She sees it yet, its trace is left, 

As twilight's shades advance. 
She hears th' incoming breakers roar; 

The ship fades from her eyes; 
And now for her there's little more 

To live for 'neath the skies. 



XXVI. 

She rose, she turn'd, she paced the floor 
In grief's o'erwhelming flood ; 

Then came to where she left before, 
And there -in anguish stood. 

And faint she feels ; her forehead burns ; 
Her feeble strength is o'er; 

The pictur'd room around her turns- 
She's senseless on its floor. 



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ALICE. 



The leaves fall fast in forest aisles , 

The wind is cold and keen; 
The days are dark when her sweet smiles 

Light up a merry scene. 
Gay belles of youth around her shine, 

And bright their jewels glance ; 
And suitors take that hand of thine 

To lead thee forth to dance. 



The bird may live with broken wing; 

The tree that falls may bloom ; 
The captive, too, may sometimes sing 

Within his cell of gloom. 
And she among the joyous throng 

Is deck'd in silken sheen; 
And often comes and lingers long 

Where pleasure holds her reign. 



But soon these looks so well portray'd 

Begin to wane away; 
The threatening hours, so long delay'd, 

Begin to hold their sWay. 
And her young face, so sad and meek, 

In changing beauty shone; 
They mark the crimson on her cheek, 

And speak in whisper 'd tone. 




ALICE 



Again she'd change, and then she'd grow- 
Like flow'r of Autumn pale 

When piercing winds around it blow 
Along the leafless vale. 

She grieves that she must so distress 
The friends who cannot aid; 

Nor does she love the sunbeams less 
For falling through the shade. 

XXXI. 

The wint'ry waves in anger roar, 

And dash their icy spray 
High up upon the des'late shore 

Thro' all the lonesome day. 
And tempests in their mighty wrath 

Sweep o'er the howling sea, 
And foaming billows in their path 

Hold fur'ous tumult free. 

XXXII. 

They woo her, though, to brave it all, 

Nor wait for calmer time ; 
But with them go, and soon recall 

Her health in brighter clime. 
She shudders as she looks around 

Upon the friendly shore, 
And hears the dreadful waves rebound, 

Again to strike and roar. 





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She yields at last. The sleet and rain 

Have made the evening drear, 
And as she nears the wint'ry main 

Her thoughts are hush'd in fear. 
But soon the billows round her roar; 

The night- wind round her sighs; 
And swiftly from her gaze the shore 

In mist receding lies. 

xxxiv. 

They reach with her a sunny isle 

Enclasp'd in dreamy sea; 
■Ambrosial gardens round her smile 

And Eden here might be. 
Behind her cot the mountains rise, 

And from their heights of snow 
Down to the vales unnumber'd dyes 

In changing beauty glow. 



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XXXV. 

The crevice, path, and rock are bright 

With leaf and fruit and vine, 
And veil'd in summ'ry raiment light 

Are pillar, porch, and shrine. 
The waving glades are dark with bloom 

The wood and grove and lea 
Young blushing Flora's smiles illume, 

And tints the limpid sea. 



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XXXVI. 

And here she bides. Then mid the cheer 

Of courtly hall she moves, 
And happy guests assemble here. 

But where is he she loves? 
By chance she heard he hither came, 

And here he's been of late; 
Might he return? She still delay'd, 

And leaving fain would wait. 

XXXVII. 

She sits alone. Her gentle eyes 

Behold a Spanish scene 
That 'neath the tender azure skies 

Sleeps hush'd in starry sheen. 
She lists th' entrancing nightingale 

'Mid banks with laurel crown 'd, 
And o'er the distant mountain vale 

The moon shines full and round. 



XXXVIII. 

She hears the cascade as it pours 

Down to the glades below, 
As glancing o'er the rocks it roars 

And breaks in sparkling snow. 
She knows not why, but sweet repose 

And peace on her descends ; 
To-night she feels no pangs, no woes- 

E'en fate and she are friends. 



XXXIX. 

And long she thinks of her own land— 

Upon her lips there's pray'r, 
For now she feels some mighty hand 

Would wish to guide her there. 
She turns her to the stars of night 

With startled eyes benign; 
The brightest passes from her sight, 

And falls no more to shine. 

XL. 

And since that night each coming day 

Seems longer still to wear; 
And though they court her here to stay 

And breathe that balmy air — 
She pines and cares no more to roam 

Beneath a distant sky; 
She fain would reach her own dear home, 

And to its shelter fly. 




She's home again, and o'er she strays 

The grand old rooms so dear; 
Blent with the light that in them plays, 

What memories are here. 
The pictures on the tinted walls; 

The nooks the fire beside ; 
A dream, a happy dream recalls, 

And visions with her glide. 





And faces bright with greeting come 

Her greeting here to share, 
And all th' endearing charms of home 

Are spread around her there ; 
A peasant child, among the rest, 

Steals in unseen by all; 
Nor does he feel a slighted guest 

Within her father's hall. 



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XLIII. 

The Sabbath comes; she hears the bells 

Peal out their silvery chime 
O'er vales and hills and peaceful dells 

So still at that sweet time. 
Down towards the little village church 

She takes her quiet way, 
And feels within its ancient porch 

A holy balm to-day. 

XLIV. 

'Neath where the aged trees out-spread 

Their cool and pleasant shade, 
She passes home with loit'ring tread 

Up through the green arcade. 
And laughs beneath the rust'ling leaves 

Among her young compeers ; 
But as the light wind o'er her grieves, 

A whisper'd voice she hears. 



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ALICE. 



There is a path she loves to trace 

Alone along the scene; 
And near a rustic bridge, a place 

Bright leaves and flow'r'ts screen ; 
She often wanders to this nook 

With smiles more sad than tears; 
While not far off, a little Ibrook 

As by it speeds she hears. 

XLVI. 

Sometimes 'twould sing with plaintive strain 

Sometimes 'twas sad and slow ; 
But ever anon its sweet refrain 

Seemed like her thoughts to flow. 
Tho' briar and branch and shrub and thorn 

Have dim'd its path below, 
^'Tis crystal still. So love was born 

In shade or sheen to flow. 

XLVII. 

Reclined on rocks above the shore, 

She looks in revery 
Upon the flow'rs her white hand bore, 

And then upon the sea — 
At last into the waves they're flung, 

And as they leave the shore, 
She watch 'd them and a farewell sung : 




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Sea take these flowers, young and fair. 

And if you meet my sailor's view 
Tell him that she who flung you there 

Had once sweet hopes as fair as you. 
They blossom 'd like yourselves as gay, 

Ere 3^et you lay to wifch'r there; 
Tho' now they've pass'd like you away — 

But tell him not whose hopes they were. 

2. 

Sea breeze that lingers like the Spring 

Around this scene of beauty rare, 
Ah! bear to him on your light wing 

My vain, vain longing and my pray'r. 
Tell him that it was breathed by 

The banks o'er which he often stray'd 
By one who wanders there to sigh — 

But tell him not 'twas I who pray'd. 



The Sabbath comes : she hears the bells 

Peal out their silv'ry chime 
O'er vales and hills and peaceful dells 

So still at that sweet time. 
The priest in sacred robe is dress't; 

The hour of pray'r is near; 
But one he loved from childhood best, 

To-day she is not here. 



ALICE. 




XLIX. 

She hears these bells but cannot leave 

The cot where she is laid; 
In vain her friends would yet deceive 

"With cheer that cannot aid. 
When questional oft, as wild with dread 

They saw her blanch'd in fear, 
She pointed to'ards her heart and said, 

"The pain I feel is here." 

L. 

The birds twice sang their morning song- 
To-day their song she hears, 

And in that time she's grown so strong, 
She smiles at pains and fears. 

She says as health returning shed 
On her its cheering ray: 

"To-morrow I will leave this bed 
If it be like to-day." 

LI. 

The setting sun lights up the scene 

Of cliff and rock and bay ; 
She looks out through the leafy screen 

On ocean far away. 
She marks approaching twilight throw 

Its veil o'er th' azure tide, 
And glim 'ring stars within it glow 

Above the waters wide. 



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LII. 

But, hark ! whose voice is this beneath ? 

That silv'ry laughter low? 
'Tis his and his young bride's, whose wreath 

Was bound some days ago. 
A shade her spirit dim'd at first; 

Then back its brightness stream 'd — 
Thro' clouds and grief its sunshine burst 

To greet him while it gleam'd. 




till. 

She bade them lead him to her couch, 

And he is at her side; 
She sees — she hears— she feels his touch 

And raptures round her bide. 
He lifts her wasted, languid form 

To kiss her o'er and o'er, 
But naught these once red lips can warm, 



LIV. 

Her face looked in his own — her eyes 

Their last bright lustre shed; 
" I loved— I loved thee so " she sighs, 

And now her drooping head 
Falls o'er his arm. With one long breath 

Her bosom sinks to rest; 
And in his arms sleeps in death 

The maid who loved him best. 



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ALICE. 



Her form we enfolded in raiment white, 

E'en as white as each limb of snow; 
A flower we pulled ere the shades of night 

Had forbidden it yet to blow. 
We left it to blush in her virgin breast, 

And her hands we enclasp'd in pray'r; 
How calmly she sleeps in her tranquil rest, 

And her face it is wondrous fair. 

LVI. 

We made her a grave in the old church yard 

At the dawn of a summer's day; 
We left her to sleep in the fresh green sward 

In the place where she used to play 
In earlier years; and the sun still slept 

And the briar and leaf were bright 
With dews that the skies in the silence wept 

In the calm of the balmy night. 



Beneath where a tree spread its wavy gloom 

We have laid the young nymph to sleep ; 
Her way was o'ershaded, and we o'er her tomb 

Let the shadowy branches weep. 
As beams of the morn thro' its leaves will smile, 

In its heart they will gleam and play- 
As bright in her heart shone a dream awhile 

Till it past with the morn away. 



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LVIII. 

She sleeps with the flowers, the fair young flow'rs, 

That have droop'd ere their Spring was o'er ; 
The lark soon will sing, but that fawn of ours 

She will wake with his song no more. 
And soon will the bright-eyed red-breast tread 

O'er thy grave, and the sun will shine 
And stream thro' the shade on thy peaceful bed 

But he'll light not that face of thine. 

LIX. 

She died at the time of the vi' lets' birth ; 

Where the violets bloom she lies; 
As pure as ye came she has pass'd from earth 

To her home in the starry skies. 
With tears we have strewn you around her bed 

Ere we press 'd down the fresh green sod ; 
Then we turn'd away and we left the dead 

With the earth— and with her God. 




J. S. O'NEIL, PRINTER, 336 BROOME ST., NEW YORK. 












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